christmas memory
by azaleas thorns
Summary: Oliver awakes to another morning, with no memory of the night before. 'Today wasn't any normal day. Today would mark the one'year anniversary of the passing of his mother. And the passing of his old life.' possible slash T... ...maybe it should be M...


The first thing Oliver was aware of when he awoke, was that he wasn't wearing any cloths. The second, was the faint smell of scented candles that had burnt themselves out mere hours ago.

He opened his eyes.

Sunlight streamed in through the windows, into the dark room. A king-sized bed lay under him; silk blankets on top of him.

Oliver looked down next to him. There was a body there, curled up. Oliver froze. The other member of the bed had golden hair, smooth, cream-like skin, and a flat, broad chest.

Oliver was in bed with a guy. Naked.

A soon as that thought ran though Oliver's head, he bolted up, and searched the room for his cloths.

He found them tossed around the room, and hastily threw them on. With one last glance at the unfamiliar boy on the bed, Oliver all but ran out the door.

This would be the hundredth time something like this had happened to Oliver, but it must have been the thousandth time he had forgotten a whole evening-or even a whole day.

Oliver walked down the streets, snow falling from above, and landing lightly on his face and hair.

He wished he could call Miley, or Lily. Tell them about his frequent memory gaps. But that chapter of his life was long gone.

He had no one to call now. No one to go for comfort.

He thought about all the different faces he had woken up to over the past year.

On an average day, he would try not to think about them. He would try not to think about why he couldn't remember how he had gotten there, or who they were. Often times he would go on pretending that he was an average, happy, naive, fifteen-year-old sophomore at the Community High school in Illinois.

But today wasn't any normal day.

Today would mark the one-year anniversary of the passing of his mother. And the passing of his old life.

He glanced around the snow-littered streets, before crossing. He passed face after face, recognizing no one.

When he got these memory gaps, he would be lucky if he even knew what city he was in.

He was two minutes from the bus stop. He knew, because he had been here before with his father on business.

Two minutes from the bus stop, and then a fifteen minute bus ride back to the small town he was forced to call home.

He slowed, as he approached the station. He checked his pockets, making sure he still had money for the bus. He pulled out a wallet, unfamiliar to him. He did grab the right pants, didn't he?

He opened the wallet to see the boy's face on a driver's license. There was only about ten dollars in the wallet itself, no credit card, or anything.

"Hey, kid, you getting on the bus or what?" A man called out. Oliver looked up, startled. The bus was here. He shoved the wallet back into his pocket, before slowly got on. He quietly thanked the man who had called out to him.

Sitting in the back of the bus, he tried not to think about his mom, or his past life. Tried not to think at all.

The bus came to a stop, and the bus driver announced the name of the town. Stewartville. Ironic.

Oliver was at the Stewart's house when his mother died.

Some sort of Christmas party. Since everyone was busy on Christmas, they settled to have it on Christmas Eve.

It was hot out too. Probably like eighty-ninety degrees. Hottest winter ever.

"Wheaton, Wheaton." the bus driver called out. Oliver got to his feet and slowly trudged off the bus. He stood at the bus stop for a moment, until the bus started off again.

He watched it fade into the flurry of snow, then slowly, numbly, started walking again.

When he got closer to his house, he started recognizing people. Students, teachers, people who had the same routine, day, after day.

He glanced at his watch, before slowly walking up the stairs to his house. His father would be awake, and wondering where he had been. He probably thought Oliver was some sort of drug dealer, prostituting himself whenever he got the chance. And for all Oliver knew, he could be right.

He sighed, and opened the door. His father never locked it anymore.

"I'm home!" Oliver yelled, not caring if his father heard or not. He took off his shoes, and walked to his room slowly. He flopped down on his bed, and closed his eyes.

_'It's Christmas eve.'_

* * *

_ A/N ...erm, yeah...not sure where this exactly came from, but please review to tell me if you think it's worth continuing!!_

_(PS: Merry Christmas eve-eve!!)_


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